


Delilah

by orphan_account



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Stray Dog AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:53:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Dammit Jim, what is that thing standin’ in my kitchen?” </p><p>Wherein Jim brings home a stray and tries, in vain, to convince Bones to keep her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delilah

“Dammit Jim, what is that thing standin’ in my kitchen?” Bones looks up from the dishes in the sink, slaps the dishcloth down onto the counter and turns his body to Jim. Jim looks all the part of the innocent child, not sure why he’s being scolded only that he should look suitably guilty. Jim grins at the scene before him, Bones with his hands on his hips looking down disbelievingly at the mutt standing beside Jim.

“She’s a dog, Bones.” Jim says slowly. “You know, they bark and play fetch and stuff.”

“Why is it in my kitchen?” Bones questions.

“ _She_. And I thought this was _our_ kitchen.” Jim counters.

“Jesus Jim, would you just answer the damn question.” Bones says, throwing another wary glance at the dog.

“She’s a stray; she was down by the creek, hurt her back paw.” Jim says, and sure enough when Bones glances around the dog her right back paw is lifted off the ground, blood matted around her ankle.

“I’m a doctor not a vet, Jim.” Bones says.

“You’re heartless, Bones. Look at her.” Jim says, pouting.

“She could have any number of diseases, Jesus Jim; she could have fleas or mange or, hell, _rabies_ for Christ’s sake.” Bones says.

“You and I both know she doesn’t have rabies.” Jim counters.

“Alright Jim, get my medbag. I’ll fix her up as best I can, but she’s _not_ staying. You’ll probably end up with hives and anaphylaxis.” Bones says.

“I’m not allergic to dogs.” Jim huffs. “We can’t throw her out Bones, look at her.”

Bones does look down at the dog, a Shetland Sheepdog cross he thinks, hair way overgrown and dirty and damp. Nails overgrown, ribs protruding. The poor thing looks a fright. “She’s not ours Jim, someone might be looking for her, you can’t just adopt animals from the street.”

“They obviously didn’t care enough to keep her from getting like this. And she hasn’t got a collar, Bones please?” Jim looks at him, eyes pleading.

“Just get my kit, would you.” Bones says, moving to kneel beside the dog. Jim exits the kitchen with a sigh; the medkit is upstairs in their bedroom. Bones really doesn’t have much of an idea about the internal anatomy of dogs, he’s _not_ a vet, but he can fix this paw and he can check for any other illnesses. The dog eyes Bones warily; Bones imagines that, if it could, it would raise an eyebrow questioningly. Bones scratches her behind the ears and then all of a sudden she’s leaning into Bones, easing to lie over his bent knees.

“Easy now.” He says, careful to mind her back paw. “We’ll get you cleaned up and fed and see to that paw but you gotta be careful with it.” He can feel Jim’s gaze on him and glances up at the doorway, rolling his eyes at the shit eating grin on Jim’s face.

“Here you go, doc.” Jim says, setting his bag down beside him.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Bones says, getting to work on her back paw.

“Me or her?” Jim asks.

“Either of you.” Bones says, stroking a hand over the dog’s back, feeling the knots of her spine.

“What will we call her?” Jim asks after a while.

“We’re not naming her Jim.”

“But I name everything I keep.” Jim says with a smirk.

“Well you’re _not_ keepin' her. She is not stayin', Jim. That is final.” Bones huffs.

“I like Delilah.” Jim shrugs.

Bones shakes his head but gestures towards the kitchen counters. “There are chicken pieces in the fridge, use on of the bowls we don’t use very much, like one of those blue ones.”

“But, _Bones_ , your mother gave us those bowls as a housewarming gift.” Jim says with faux surprise.

“You and I both know those bowls are disgustin'.” Bones says, using the small portable osteoregeneration unit on the dog who eyes the machine warily. “It’s alright darlin’, we’re not going to hurt you. Look Jim’s gettin' you chicken, you’ll be better fed ‘an us in no time.” He strokes the hand that isn’t holding the regenerator over her side in slow, soothing motions.

“Yeah and then Bones’ is going to throw you out back into the cold.” Jim pouts, laying the bowl in front of her. She sniffs at it for a moment before deeming it fit for consumption and diving into her dinner full steam ahead.

“Jim, don’t be like that. We can’t keep a dog, we’ll be back in space in six months’ time and then what'll we do with her?” Bones says rationally. “I’m not doing this to be a cantankerous bastard, I’m trying to be realistic.”

“Leave the logic to Spock, come on Bonesy. Can we keep her? I’ll find her a good home to go to while we’re on missions, but she’ll be ours. She’s still practically a puppy and she’s already been through so much, if we abandon her she might never find a family or spend the rest of her life alone in the pound.” Jim sighs. “I mean, if you can live with that then I guess…” He shrugs.

“Jim.” Bones cautions. “Would you run her a bath, please, don’t use our soap or anything, I’ve got some hypoallergenic cleansing pads I’ll use.”

“The ones you use for children?” Jim asks.

“And the elderly, we don’t want to irritate her skin.” Bones says.

“Alright.” Jim sighs, presumably leaving the room to fulfil Bones’ orders, but who can tell with Jim Kirk?

Bones ends up being the one to bathe the dog, washing away the blood that has matted some of the fur on her injured leg and washing the grim from the rest of her body. She doesn’t seemed to be too bothered by the water so Bones continues to wash her until the water runs clear, then he wraps her in a towel, drying her in the now empty bath so as to avoid dripping water all over the house. Bones is slightly warmed to thing that she is comforted by his presence, she leans close to him while he towels her fur, mindful of her emaciated body and the small patch of mange on her flank that must be rather sore. He leaves her in the tub while he goes in search of a small vial he has in his medkit, that, while not designed to do so, will treat the mange. Once he’s found it he turns back in the direction of the bathroom only to find that the dog has followed him back into the kitchen.

She makes a half bark, half whimper and puts her head under his palm.

Bones smiles. “Don’t worry girl, I’m not going anywhere, just had to get some gel so we can get you all fixed up. Sit down now, there, that’s a good girl. It’s a bit cold.” He says taking a small helping of the gel and applying it in a thin layer over the patch of hair loss. “You’ll be up and running in no time.” The dog slaps her tail against the floor in what might be construed as agreement and then glances over at the blue bowl, still on the floor but, unfortunately for her, empty.

“You can have more but not too much, small portions regularly, okay?” Bones explains, pulling out some of the salmon left from his last fishing trip. “You eat better than I do.” He chuckles, setting the bowl closer to her.

“Made a new friend, Bonesy?” Jim asks from the kitchen doorway, now dresses in thin cotton pajama bottoms and not much else.

“I’d like to monitor her recovery myself but I do think we should take her to see a vet in the morning to make sure her internals are all okay. She can stay with us until she’s put a good amount of weight back on but then we take her up to the animal shelter, and I mean it Jim.” Bones states.

“Sure you do.” Jim nods, badly hiding his smirk.

“I do mean it. We can’t keep a dog it’s not fair.” Bones huffs.

“What’s not fair? She’ll have two owners who love her and acres to run around, she can chase Mrs Briscoe’s chickens and run with the horses.” Jim urges.

“We spend most of our shore leave in San Francisco, Jim. We’re only in Georgia now because we have eight months off.” Bones explains. “A dog needs humans she can depend on, we’re not those humans.”

“But Bones…”

“Don’t _but Bones_ me.”  Bones huffs and with a pout adds: “I need to get the spare quilt from the guest room and a blanket or something; she’s not got enough fat on her hide to keep her warm.” And with that he trots off in search of the linen cupboard.

“She’s staying in our room!” Jim calls.

“No she is not!” Bones returns.

Jim helps Bones fold the quilt in four and lay it down in the kitchen. “She needs to be taught boundaries, especially if she is still a pup. We let her stay in with us and we’ll never get rid of her, she’ll have no independence whatsoever.”

Bones pats the quilt, now a makeshift dog bed, and she warily approaches it, sniffing and pawing at it slightly before stepping on it, circling and slumping down. “Now see.” Bones says, stroking her neck. “You’re exhausted.” Jim spreads the blanket over her, mindful to keep her head out from under it and gives her a parting stroke.

“Bed time for us too, I suppose?” Jim wonders.

“I’m sure I can make it worth your while.” Bones’ lips curve into a small smile of his own, eyes tired but still adoring.

“Ooh, I’m intrigued.” Jim says, taking his hand and leading Bones up the stairs and in the direction of their bedroom.

Bones shifts in the night when he feels an unfamiliar weight over his legs, Jim is still wrapped in his arms, back against Bones’ broad chest, held in place by the tangle of arms and fingers and legs. Bones is confused, if he can feel Jim in front of him then what is that laid across their legs? Bones raises his head slightly and cracks open an eye, it’s her. Ears drawn down in sleep, one paw over her muzzle, her back rises and falls with a comforting regularity; like how he can feel Jim’s chest do much the same against his arms.

When Jim wakes Bones is already padding about the kitchen making coffee, he’s found some plain bran flakes, mashed peanut butter into them and laid the bowl next to the quilt. When Jim enters the kitchen the dog is just the way they left her last night but something about the bowl catches his eyes. He sleep muddled brain asks: “Peanut butter?”

“S’a good source of fibre and protein and it’ll mean she’ll eat the bran.” But that isn’t really what caught Jim’s attention; he kneels down by the side of the dog bed and picks up the bowl.  _Delilah_ is scrawled across the bowl in Bones’ rough doctor’s scratch and Jim smiles. “I’ve already made an appointment with the vet; we’re seeing her at 1300. I figure we should go into town slightly earlier and see about fixing our girl up with a collar.” 

“Our girl?” Jim questions, only slightly smug.

“Yeah, Jim. Our girl.”

 


End file.
